Monochrome
by Luna the Zekrom
Summary: Arctic's life has always been, in some ways, black and white.


I never knew it, at first, but my life has always been

Black and white.

The calm darkness within my egg,

the shards of its shell mingling with glittering snow.

I don't really remember my hatching—no one does—

but sometimes bits and pieces come back to me in my sleep,

like fragments of the shell that gave me life;

but instead of disintegrating over time,

they remain forever a part of me.

I feel cold snow kiss my scales as I burrow to the surface,

and meet the night-dark air above.

White and black.

Maybe that's why the unvaried whiteness of my mother's palace bored me;

I was forever searching for the contrast I had been born into.

Foeslayer caught my eye immediately—

her scales were darkness against the kingdom's light.

Black and white.

I expected our dragonets to carry our differences on their scales,

making harmony out of the contrast which caused us to clash sometimes,

our anger sparking like lightning against a night sky.

White and black.

But instead, Darkstalker was all darkness,

inside and out.

And Whiteout had ivory scales and ebony ones,

like icebergs on the sea,

but in her mind there were no distinctions,

only senseless shades of gray.

Ever since I left the Ice Kingdom, I've been searching for the whiteness

I took for granted in the years before.

But there was nothing but dark scales and dark skies all around me;

we all slept through the light of day and clouds and sunshine.

The only contrast left was in me:

my scales were white, but my soul was black.

Black and white.

My mother summoned Foeslayer to her, took her away from me,

brought her to my icy birthplace,

where she could never possibly survive.

In my tortured nightmares, I would see them,

Diamond's claws against Foeslayer's throat.

White and black.

After that, I knew I couldn't stay in the Night Kingdom.

If there was any hope that Foeslayer was still living,

that my mother was keeping her alive to lure me back,

I would have to fly to her, save her.

Betraying the dragons I had lived with for years wouldn't be easy,

but to me the moral gray areas didn't matter.

My choice was clear—I would do whatever it took to save Foeslayer.

To me it was

Black and white.

And so I took Whiteout and we flew north,

where my mother and my last shreds of hope were waiting for me.

But Darkstalker followed us, confronted me.

We stared each other down, father and son.

White and black.

And there was triumph in his eyes as his claws spelled out my doom

across that accursed scroll.

The ink was green, but the words were black

as he traced them into reality on the white paper.

Black and white.

We flew back to the Night Kingdom

on steady wings.

Mine flapped without my command,

Carrying me against my will.

It was for that reason only that they didn't tremble.

For the first time in my life, I was afraid.

I was helpless to resist as I followed Darkstalker,

a father enslaved by his son.

Anyone who could see us probably wondered why an IceWing

would ever follow a NightWing,

not chasing him, not bound by him… _except with words_ …,

but following freely, traveling together… _or so they thought_...

White and black.

And then we landed

and Darkstalker forced the lies from my throat,

but he thought they were the truth,

because in his mind, the world belonged to him.

To him it was

Black and white.

He never thought that his father

mattered the same way he did.

To him, I was evil and he was good—righteous, even.

Like the sand in his hourglass.

White and black.

So he made me take my own life with my own claws,

as his lover flew away,

and all I could think as I watched her go was that

she had foretold this,

and the reason I had been so afraid when Darkstalker

took my mind with his magic

was that I knew what was coming next.

I had spent many sleepless nights trying to figure out

what figurative meaning her words had held,

but the truth was so simple I might have laughed

if I hadn't been so terrified.

There was no figurative meaning at all.

It was all completely true, all terribly real.

 _Your claws will betray you in your final hour._

The moment I found myself unable to control my own talons,

the moment they smashed the enchanted glass

hanging from Whiteout's neck,

I knew.

My final hour had begun.

It ended on that stage,

as I poured out my own lifeblood,

as my tattered soul left me,

and my vision went dark.

For a long moment, I saw nothing,

and then I saw a distant light.

Black and white.

….

…

..

.

.

..

…

….

 _I was gone after that,_

 _but I can imagine what others saw on that stage:_

 _one of their own black dragons_

 _standing over a white corpse._

 _Black and white._


End file.
